


Scarecrow

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg Master's possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarecrow

She’d been in hell too long to remember her name. Hell, she couldn’t even be sure if she had actually been female or male or somewhere in between. But the body she was in now felt comfortable enough. Felt like it might fit well if she shifted her shoulders, cracked her neck to loosen the muscles there, ran her palms down skin that wasn’t really hers.

The fit would be closer if—she patted down her pants until her palms closed in on a wallet. She flipped it open. Meg. Meg Masters—who needed to settle the hell down. Not that she could blame Meg—all demons had a taste of hellfire and blood and sulfur—not even swishing a mouthful of listerine could get rid of it—that kind of taste, that kind of weight, just settles in down deep. She leaned closer into the mirrors that sprawled the walls of the girls’ locker room. “Settle down in there. Buckle up for the ride—it’s gonna be fun.”

 _Give me my body back._

“Won’t,” she said. “I need it.”

 _No. I need it. It’s mine. Get your own._

“Someone already took mine away. And what else is a girl to do? Just accept it? Just rot somewhere in a hole?” She twisted her hand, feeling the porcelain-fragile bones rotate and turn in their sockets, perfectly knit together. Except these gears didn’t stretch and pull her apart so nothing fit right anymore. “Might be good enough for you, but not for me.”

 _It’s mine._

“Listen. I suffered in hell for a long, long time—longer than you could imagine, longer than it’d take to circumnavigate fairy tale stories with happy endings that don’t actually exist. How do you think I’ve managed to get my sweet little self up here?”

Meg Masters said nothing.

“I dragged myself out.” She flexed her fingers against the sink, half expecting to see the nail beds ripped out, skin smeared with dirt and blood and guts, barbed with bone fragments. But the flesh was smooth, practically new—tender and soft instead of charcoal. “You taste that? It’s hell. You’re almost in hell. Practically as close as you can get if you’re still alive.” Her tongue flicked out, licked her lips with its soft, wet flesh. She did it again. “So. You can do what I did. You can dig yourself out. And if you do—” she splayed her fingers against the mirror. “Your meat suit’s all yours again.”

 _I shouldn’t have to make a deal to get back something that’s already mine._

“And I shouldn’t be here right now in this state. And my father shouldn’t be locked up where he doesn’t belong. No so such thing as fair, not anymore—not ever before.”

 _I’m not going to bargain with you._

She shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m stronger than you anyway.”

 _We’ll see. Don’t get too comfortable._

“Baby, I haven’t been comfortable for years, for centuries, for millennia. You think your fingernail scratching is anything compared to the lashings of hell?” She wrapped her fingers around her frail wrist. Rubbed the pulse point in slow circles with her thumb. It didn’t hurt. The friction warmed and pulled together instead of seared and strung apart. Made the flesh rosy and pink instead of black and blue and red all over.

She brought her hand closer to her face. Her breath was warm and damp against her skin, pushing back hell’s chill that lingered in her bones. Her tongue dragged across her flesh, wet and soft. She tasted salt and skin and earth.

 _You like that?_

“I like everything.”

 _Fuck you._

She tsked at her reflection. “Language.” She wiped her hands on her pants, then dropped a wink in the mirror. “We got to work to do.” 


End file.
